


Quarion

by chronicAngel



Series: Concresce [8]
Category: League of Legends
Genre: F/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, POV Third Person, Power Outage, Talking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-10
Updated: 2018-08-10
Packaged: 2019-06-24 08:31:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15626814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chronicAngel/pseuds/chronicAngel
Summary: quarionn. candle





	Quarion

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mikorins](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mikorins/gifts).



> This one lowkey feels the most out of character, but I still liked it enough to post it which is more than I can say for some forgotten drafts (or entire fics I was going to write for this series and then changed my mind about).

She wakes up to _noise_. So loud it feels as though it is splitting her head directly in half and only getting louder; the best she can do is cradle her head in her hands and look frantically around the room for Ezreal from where she sits in his bed. She doesn't remember dozing off. Her eyes settle on him by the window in his room right as the lights go out, a dark silhouette she can hardly make out against a darker sky, and she scrambles out of bed at this, brain already half-spiraling into panic mode. It does not get dark in Plitover, not like this. The city as a whole seems to be perpetually awake most days, and there is always a dim light from little shops open twenty-four hours and houses of inventors staying up far too late to tinker with their latest experiments.

Now, it is as black as her memories of Fossbarrow under attack by demons, and even thinking such a thing leaves a bitter taste in her mouth. The life in the city has been stolen from it. She wants to ask Ezreal what is going on, if he is okay, but she can hardly hear herself think for how badly her ears are ringing. In the dark, she sees his mouth move as though he is saying something, but she can't quite read his lips and she still can't hear practically at all, and then he makes to leave the room and so she follows him on instinct. There is a threat, somewhere, and she does not want to leave Ezreal alone to face it.

Her hearing has mostly come back to her by the time there is a knock on the door a few minutes later, and they both rush to answer it. He gets there first. Vi is on the other side, wearing a severe look that she thinks is a mix of anger and concern. They are quiet, looking at each other for a long time as though they are having an entire conversation in the silence, and then Vi grabs him and pulls him in for a hug that looks like it should be painfully tight. This is strange to see. Ezreal and Vi are not shy about physical affection, but she is more used to it in the form of brotherly shoulder punches and ruffling of hair and leaning against each others' shoulders just to be annoying.

"Caitlyn's putting all of Piltover on lock-down. Anyone who isn't a deputized officer of the law is to stay where they were when the explosions went off." She thinks there is a quiet reassurance in there, somewhere. She's not sure what for. Perhaps that Caitlyn is alright. "That means you have to stay here."

Even as Vi says it, she looks at Lux pointedly. _That means you have to stay with her_ , she thinks Vi means, and she isn't sure if it is because somehow, on some level, Caitlyn and Vi don't trust her (this seems unlikely) or if it is because they fear for her safety if she is left alone. ( _In their defense, you don't have the best track record when it comes to your own safety_ , her brain reminds her pointedly, but this does not make it hurt any less.)

"Don't be ridiculous," Ezreal says, sounding more like a child than she has ever really heard him. ( _It is not because he is throwing a tantrum. He just sounds so much like a little kid who wants to be doing more to help_.) They stare at each other in defiance. Like earlier, they are having an entire conversation with only their expressions, but this time it is an argument and Lux strangely feels even more left out by it. Finally, Vi seems to win, as Ezreal's shoulders slump slightly and he runs a hand through his hair.

"I'm going to get her this time," Vi reassures, and Lux does not know who "her" is but she trusts that this is true. She rests a giant, gauntleted hand on Ezreal's shoulder and squeezes just a little (Lux still flinches, remembering the bruises left behind when Vi did that to her), and then she's off and Ezreal is hurriedly closing the door. He almost immediately goes to his kitchen and opens one of the drawers. When he draws back from it, he holds a few wooden candlesticks that look like they have been used a lot. She supposes this makes sense, if this ominous _her_ has such an impressive track record that she can best Caitlyn and Vi. (From what she knows, such a feat requires experience.)

They don't say anything as he places them in different rooms, fills them with candles, digs up matches, and then lights the candles. When Ezreal does not say anything, she is usually afraid to break the silence. After all, he is not known for being quiet.

A moment passes between them after he has lit all of the candles and thus has nothing to distract himself with anymore. He stares at her, face flickering with so many emotions in the dim candlelight (and she can read none of them), and then, suddenly and very quickly, his expression morphs into one of anger and he yells and slams his hand against the wall. Though his fist is open, his palm still produces a loud enough bang that she flinches and wonders if it hurt.

"What's wrong?" She asks cautiously. She does not know how to help him and it is as painful now as it has always been. She does not like to stand helplessly by when Ezreal is upset. There is a naked hurt on his face, along with the anger and the weariness and a thousand other emotions she can't describe or fully recognize, and she wishes desperately to make it go away.

He looks at her as though he had forgotten she was there, and this makes her heart stutter fearfully in her chest.

He doesn't actually answer her aloud. Like his initial confrontation with Vi, he simply grabs her and squeezes her against him until she can hardly breathe.

She hugs him back and thinks he is going to start crying. He never does, simply clinging to her and almost shaking. She thinks that he is going to explode soon, like the detonations around the city that have caused this. Whoever "her" is, Luxanna seriously hopes Vi kills her in interrogation with her brutality. They would not hesitate to in Demacia. "It's going to be alright. Caitlyn and Vi are on the case. They're excellent officers," she murmurs lowly, trying to calm him down. If he hears her at all, he doesn't respond in any way other than to hold her tighter. She resolves that he will talk when he is ready and lifts a hand to brush her fingers through his hair, hoping that this will help him to calm down. He lets out a sigh and she sees it lift some of the weight off of his shoulders. Her eyes have adjusted to the lighting in the room, finally, and when he finally pulls back enough to look her in the face she can see the worry in the lines of his face even as he smiles at her. He looks tired. As though they were not asleep minutes ago.

"Do you have terrorists in Demacia?" He asks. The question seems rhetorical, so she does not answer. Still, privately, she thinks that they do not. The legal system in Demacia is too rigid, unbending under the strain of difficult questions. ( _Is a murder justified if you are under the influence of magic? Would the same murder be justified if the person you killed was a mage? This one is a particular dilemma among Demacians. After all, you are simply replacing one evil with another_.) Most are too afraid to break the law, to even suggest that they could, and those who are not are quickly found and executed or else simply exiled. Criminals simply do not live in Demacia.

"We do not have to talk about this if it would be too exhausting for you," she replies eventually, trying not to seem too piteous even as she half-grimaces at the traces of weariness in his eyes. _He should be terrified_ , she thinks. That's what terrorism is meant to do, really. It's even in the name. Instead he just seems tired. She wonders if all Piltovians react to attacks like this, these days. If they are truly so common, even as she has never, in all of her visits, witnessed one.

"It's not exhausting," he snaps. He sounds almost defensive. Once again, she wants to know how to help him. Once again, she doesn't. This scenario is so foreign to Lux that she doesn't even know how to react to it herself, really. She thinks copying his method of coping with it would probably be unhealthy. She thinks that being completely numb to the situation and only worrying about Ezreal is unhealthy, too.

He turns toward the wall again and for a moment she fears he is going to hit it again. He doesn't. He simply rants in its direction and she doesn't know what difference it makes but she doesn't try to force him to talk at her instead (perhaps because there is no real difference). "I want to help them. Vi always gets so torn up about Jinx and they never get her and it just gets worse. This is redundant. I should be helping."

There is a lot to unpack in these four sentences. "Then why aren't you?" She chooses to ask first.

He looks back at her over his shoulder with an expression like he suspects she is making fun of him. He opens his mouth to snap something angrily at her, seems to realize that she is not actually making fun of him, and then lets his mouth fall closed and his brow furrow in confusion. She sides with Caitlyn in almost all matters. She supposes that encouraging him to go against the sheriff's word is a bit out of character for her. "Caitlyn would kill me," he answers eventually.

"She would never," she responds, though she knows he is exaggerating. "Squadrons are not at fault for helping where reinforcements are needed, especially if it turns the tide of a battle. Any half-decent commander should be able to see that." Of course, this is a Demacian principle. A _military_ principle beyond that, not quite on the level of the police.

"Aren't you supposed to be the voice of reason in this relationship?" He says, and she suspects he is only partially joking. Usually, she is the one trying to talk him out of things.

"Typically," she answers. "But I don't enjoy seeing you suffer in the dark. If my options are sitting here for hours or even days watching you fidget and worry when you could be helping or telling you to go assist in the apprehension of a dangerous criminal, the logical choice to make beyond even emotional reasoning is to tell you to help in any way you can. You are not a typical civilian. In Demacia, we would assume soldiers in the area would not simply cower in fear when they could be taking action. Clearly the same cannot be said of Piltover, but I have never been Piltovian. I cannot give you the advice a Piltovian would give."

This is a long way of encouraging him to go, if he thinks he should. He clearly gathers as much, too, used to her long-winded way of explaining the times she is a bad influence. "Are you going to come, too? Like a Demacian soldier?" She wonders if he is asking because he wants her to, or asking because he doesn't. Either way, the question she hears is _Are you going to chase after me again_? A part of her wants to say yes. She does not like the idea of leaving Ezreal to run straight into danger by himself, even as she logically knows that he has been doing things like this without her for years. (Without _anyone_ for years.) Beyond that, she hates the idea of sitting there by herself and twiddling her thumbs while all of the people in Piltover that she cares about possibly get themselves killed.

A larger part of her, though, thinks that she is ill-equipped for something like this. She does not know anything about the enemy they are going to be facing, and she still does not know very much about Piltover itself. Without her magic or any sort of tactical advantage, she is effectively as useful here as she would be there.

"I would be more likely to get in the way. As much as I hate to admit it, you're better suited for this than I am. I don't want to hold you back."

"Thanks," he deadpans, rolling his eyes, but there's a note of sincerity to it. She knows that she is one of the few people he does not arrogantly hold himself above. She hopes it means a lot to him that she is acknowledging his skill. (She hopes it helps him to feel better about himself and his ability to help, if only for a while.)

He doesn't get anything together before leaving like you read in bad novels. This makes sense to her military brain because she has experienced the same thing a thousand times. There is no frantic gathering of materials before an ambush because it is either planned far in advance and everything is already put together or the window of opportunity is too small to risk grabbing a thousand things and missing the enemy.

As his girlfriend, though, she wants the extra moment to convince herself that he is going to be alright. She wants the extra moment to remind herself that _of course he'll take this seriously_.

He turns toward the door immediately and her brain stutters because she just needs another second to make sure. "Ezreal," she says, catching his wrist as though he would keep going even after hearing her say his name. He turns to look at her, concern painted on his face, and she fights herself not to change her mind and say she is coming with him. Instead, she steps forward and grabs his face as gently as she can and then kisses him like she might never have the opportunity again. (There is still a part of her, the part who doesn't know who "Jinx" is or how severe her crimes are, that is worried she might not.) "...Please be careful."

"Don't worry so much," he mumbles. She hears the _I will_.


End file.
